


Elegance with a Side of Evil

by fresne



Category: Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Yuletide 2014, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2839064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Tosse, Lord Cummings, and Mr. Tup had something in common. It was possibly evil. But mostly a sense of style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elegance with a Side of Evil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizardbeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/gifts).



"No, Mr. Bondage, and now you will die." Dr. Tosse made an elegant gesture, because Sprezzatura was his life's model and the one with which he'd remake the world, and flipped the switch on the giant laser that would slowly slice Agent Triple O Seven in half. 

He picked up the glass of red wine that had been held on a silver tray by the M-series clone and took a sip. He stopped, closed his eyes, and savoured the taste. He held it up to the light. No light emitted through the liquid. It was the deep black of a black panther at the bottom of the Black sea on a moonless night. While the taste of it was that of pure sin with a touch of cinnamon, chocolate and red pepper.

He turned to his chief assistant, Number Two. She needed more opportunities to exercise some authority. "See to Mr. Bondage's final end." 

There was short pop of a gun being fired behind him and Bondage's scream. Unless he calculated incorrectly, which Dr. Tosse had not, Number Two had just shot Mr. Bondage in his knee cap with a .57 Magnum.

He shook his sadly. At times, Number Two lacked elegance. Dr. Tosse would have to require that all the staff reread Castellone's "Book of the Courtier" as part of their annual elegance training.

But that could come later. For now he had a mission. He put his cut crystal wine glass in the cup holder and drove from Switzerland to the Estate in his black CX75 Jaguar. Dr. Tosse frowned once. The left Tesseract engine sounded slightly off balance.

The Butler, Ms. Fanny Adams welcomed him as the descended from the ceiling landing pad. "Good day, Dr. Tosse." She slipped his coat from his shoulders and replaced it with his smoking jacket. Now here was a woman who understood elegance. "I've taken the liberty of laying out a selection of the bioengineered sheep cheeses and the 1812 Napoleon brandy for you."

He slanted her an approving look and went down the black and white marble steps into the most sacred of room, the wine cellar. Dr. Tosse went to the great vellum book and made the final notation of his greatest plan. He snapped his fingers and one of the wide eyed clones stepped forward, "Yes, Dr. Tosse, how may I be of excellent service to you?"

Dr. Tosse held up the bottle of red sin wine and spoke very precisely, because the clones were inclined to become distracted. "Kidnap the vintner of this wine and bring them here. He or she deserves to survive the coming apocalypse."

"Yes, Dr. Tosse, sir. I will see it's done." The clone stared at the wine label. "Or I'll die trying."

"Do," said Dr. Tosse, turning his attention to the great vellum book and the recitation of his greatest plan. 

A perfect dinner party of nine courses. 

Each course would be based on a Canto of Dante's Divine Comedy. 

The first would pair with "Halfway through the journey of our lives I came to myself in a dark wood." It would be free range cruelty free California Condors smoked with aged hickory and made into pate with prosciutto and skewered with rosemary. Thais would be paired with the wine of sin.  
Canto 12, "But fix thine eyes beneath; the river of blood," would pair with a simple tomato bisque made from his own bioengineered tomatoes – those who decried engineered food simply weren't aware of the science that went into his food and never would as they'd soon all be dead. This course would be served with a spicy old vine Zinfandel from the California Gold Country.

Canto 32, "Blue pinch'd and shined in ice the spirits stood," a palate cleansing course of Lemon, Hibiscus, and Vanilla sorbets with a glass of nanobot water that he'd designed to cleanse the tongue and remove the effects of the alcohol of the previous courses.

Now to the more holy course of Purgatory, where "O'er better waves to speed her rapid course," would bring an asparagus salad with wild duck and a blue cheese dressing made by a simply divine artisanal cheese maker that Dr. Tosse had been keeping in a cave for the last thirteen years. This paired with a simply delicious Prosecco from a small village out of Catalonia that he'd secretly transported to his vineyards on the moon a few years ago along with the underlying terroir. 

Canto 9, "on this God's angel either foot sustaine'd," with a steel aged Chardonnay with handmade tri-coloured ravioli – red, black and yellow – with a molecularized cheese sauce of Dr. Tosse's own design. 

Canto 33, "How lately thou hast drunk of Lethe's wave," would be paired with a cold consume of entirely secret and spicy ingredients paired with a dry Gewürztraminer.

Then on to Paradise. "Benign Apollo! This last labour aid;" with a lighter than air pastry with lemon artichoke and smoked bald eagle and golden chanterelles, and a delicate mustato. 

Canto 10, "Born with Love which breathes," paired with seared polenta bites, crimini mushrooms, and slivers of a genetically altered alligator from the moat and a delightful Pinot Grigio. 

Canto 33, the height of heaven, "In even motion, by the Love imell'd. That moves the sun in Heaven and all the stars," paired with rose water cakes decked with crystalized angels, and a port as deep as the sky.

He was in contemplation of all this when Number Two came to him and said, "The British government found our facility in Switzerland. I'm afraid the Grand Plan will have to be delayed." 

Dr. Tosse waved his hand. "Irrelevant. I'd lost interest in it anyway." He snapped his fingers. "Send for Ms. Strawberry Creams, we have a menu to implement." 

~~~~~  
Lord Cummings put down his delightfully floral tea, Da Hong Pao, and smoothed the line of his hand woven British Racing green scarf, before stepping from his helicopter and straight into conversation with his right hand woman, Ms. Lovesalot, "Have you seen that Special Agent Rumpy Pumpy is comfortable?" 

Her carmine lips curved – he did enjoy how she'd perfectly colour matched her lips to her hand stitched leather corset dress – "Yes, my Lord, she could not possibly be more comfortable. I saw to it myself that the leather straps were of the finest quality." 

"Alonzo's?" Lord Cummings felt compelled to ask, because there had been that one time.

Ms. Lovesalot tapped her left boot with her red riding crop and lifted one brow. "My Lord, it was but the one time." 

He allowed the insolence of that reply on account of their long association and her excellent hand with the whip. He waved his left hand with a sort of languid panache, for that was the word by which he lived his life. "Excellent. I'm headed to a very important meeting and am not to be disturbed under any circumstances." 

Lord Cummings drove his grey and British Racing Green XK120 Jaguar from the airfield at the sedate pace of one for whom others must wait to a discrete building on a discrete street. 

The Brass plate for the establishment read simply, "Bone and Sons, established 1862". A person who needed to learn what this establishment did from a sign did not belong there.

Lord Cummings went in and was greeted by the proprietor, the current Mr. Bone, a blading old gentleman in a dapper black suit. 

Mr. Bone offered Lord Cummings a selection of teas and once the pleasantries were accomplished said. "My Lord, with your satisfaction in mind, my assistant Mr. Cherrywood will see your final fitting." He gestured to an oak door aged with coal smoke stains. Lord Cummings frowned, as he generally preferred to work with Mr. Bone himself, but the old man twinkled at him. "Cherrywood is young, but he's a gifted hand with drape and fit. I'll be sorry when I see him go, but young talent will be wanting more soon enough."

If Mr. Bone thought that this Mr. Cherrywood understood fabric then Lord Cummings would endure him for Mr. Bone's sake.

Lord Cummings was glad of this decision as soon as he caught sight of Cherrywood, who could have been the model for the Shropshire Lad with his fair hair and full cherry bruised lips. Lord Cummings allowed Cherrywood to remove his coat and hang it upon the old oak hanger. He allowed Cherrywood to removed his tailored shirt antique button by button. 

Lord Cummings drew in a slightly stronger breath as Cherrywood undid the buttons of his trousers, his fingernail brushing across where Lord Cummings was already swelling within his silk pants. 

Cherrywood cleared his throat. "If My Lord would stand upon the dais." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Lord Cummings would and did, and quite enjoyed having his measurements retaken.

Mr. Bone beamed as he compared the early notations. "Oh, excellent your Lordship. Not that your measurements ever change, but one must check. Some," he tapped the side of his nose, "require refitting." 

Lord Cummings stepped into the grey wool trousers Cherrywood held out for him. Buttons pressing interestingly over the tuck of his interest. 

The linen shirt and Prince Edward vest were naturally perfectly fitted. The long coat in the style Lord Cummings favoured with a silk scarf to match his vest and handkerchief square. Lord Cummings examined himself in the oak framed mirror. "Excellent as always, Mr. Bone."

"I'm so glad your Lordship is pleased. You are one of our most valued customers." Mr. Bone bobbed his head, "now if you'll excuse me, I'll get the black mourning suit as well."

But Lord Cummings waved him off. "I'm sure that will be not be necessary." He did not tell Mr. Bone that when he went home, he would wad up the clothes and throw them against the wall to show them who was in charge. There were some things that Mr. Bone was not meant to know. For example, why exactly Lord Cummings went through so many tailored suits, but really villainy was hellish upon a wardrobe.

After Mr. Bone excused himself, closing the changing room door, Cherrywood licked his bee stung lips. "My Lord, I could not help but notice there was one area that was… pressing against the fit. I could assist you with that if you'd care to step back upon the dais. Lord Cummings would and Lord Cummings did, and when he left Mr. Bone and Sons it was with three tailored suits and one tailor skilled in drapery in his Jaguar. 

Lord Cummings rather fancied the idea of a personal tailor. Not that he would cease to patronize Bone and Sons, but there was the occasional fashion emergency. For example, last week's incident with the vicera.

He was in a profoundly mellow mood by the time he arrived at home. The XK120 Jaguar's roomy saloon interior was an excellent environment for generating that sort of mellowness, and for that matter a tailor intent on impressing on Lord Cummings with his gratitude for his patronage.

Lord Cummings drove up to the estate and parked the saloon car in the climate controlled garage in the old carriage house. No one touched his Jaguar but him and his personal mechanic, Johnson, whose physiognomy was more Byronic than Shropshire Lad. Once Lord Cummings had established Cherrywood in the garage suite next to Johnson, and Prickings, Lord Cumming's personal masseur, Lord Cummings went into the main house. 

Ms. Lovesalot clicked across the black and white marble tiles of the entryway. "My Lord," she bowed her head and waited with her hands folded around her red riding crop.

He sighed. It had been such a lovely day. "Ms. Lovesalot, what is it?"

"Agent Cunningham Linguist abseiled into the facility on Volcano Island. The entire facility was lost with all on location resources." She held out the riding crop in her red gloved hands. "My abject apologies, My Lord." 

He gave her a droll look. "As I had you leak that base's location three weeks ago, I'll assume that you are feeling bored. Just as that base was boring me. The aesthetics were simply appalling, and the staff were not performing up to my standards." He waved her off. "Have a pot of Tieguanyin and my new suits sent up to the Library."

He did make Ms. Lovesalot play mother. As he sipped his cup of golden perfection, he crushed his new suits and threw them against the wall to let them know who was the master here.  
~~~~~~

Mr. Tup roared past Buckingham Palace and smiled. 

He enjoyed driving his F-type Jaguar through central London. He did so enjoy reviewing his properties. When the Queen had gotten into that little financial debacle with running through her pin money, he'd discretely stepped in for a certain understanding. 

He shifted gears and spun around a tight corner past one of Queen Victoria's markers for the edges of her London, if not his. A ragged youth in ill fitting pants was foolish enough to not move out of the way. Fortunately, that was what the incinerator beam was for. That and increasing the speed of his spins.

"Sir," piped Ms. Honeypot's voice over the Jaguar's loudspeaker. "Triple O Nine just blew up our Vibranium mine in Genovia."

Mr. Tup shifted gears and raced past the London Eye. "Call the Queen and tell her we're foreclosing on the Crown Jewels." 

"But, Sir," protested Ms. Honeypot, "We're British!"

"She's been warned before, and now she must face the consequences. If she cannot exert some influence, then she should stop calling herself the Queen." Mr. Tup shifted higher and roared down the road until he arrived at the estate.

As he spun to a halt, he tossed the keys to the waiting Ms. Stickberry." Have her washed. There may be some ash in the grill." 

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," said Ms. Stickberry, and for a moment he paused admiring the fit of her suit. Not that she was his type, which tended more towards Amazonian Princesses with anger issues, but Lord Cummings had been right. The grey with a touch of green really was a better look for their operation.

Ms. Fanny Adams opened the door as he reached the top marble step and took his coat. "Would you care to refresh yourself, sir or go directly to the Dining Room? The others have already arrived."

Mr. Tup smiled in understanding. He preferred to be the last to arrive, as well Ms. Fanny Adams knew.

As he joined his fellows, they clinked cut crystal glasses full of wine as dark as sin and drank deeply. 

"Mmm…" said Professor Tosse.

"It is good to be a villain," said Lord Cummings.

Mr. Tup laughed. He could not have agreed more.

**Author's Note:**

> In the dossiers on them by a dozen governments, Dr. Tosse, Lord Cummings and Mr. Tup might look this but that would wrong. It would lack a certain... je ne sais quois.  
> 
> 
> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


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